


The Long Night

by TimmyJaybird



Series: Carnival [3]
Category: Batman (Movies - Nolan), Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Anal Sex, Hand Jobs, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-03
Updated: 2013-09-03
Packaged: 2017-12-25 11:24:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,165
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/952512
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TimmyJaybird/pseuds/TimmyJaybird
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bruce is stuck- with minor incidences happening randomly in Gotham, he has no leads as to what is going on- and what psychopath may be behind it, or what they may want. Until one night in the early snow, he sees the truth, and ends up with a wild Joker in his bedroom.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Long Night

Snow fell early on Gotham that year. Barely after Thanksgiving, and the streets were white, the winds gusty, threatening to freeze one to the bone.

Bruce- Batman, in that moment- huddled on the roof, snow slowly collecting on him. He was staring at one of the many ruins of the city, one of the many buildings set to gasoline and fire. The targets all seemed to be old, beaten down things, buildings most didn’t live in, but they caused a racket none the less.

Batman watched the ashes and dust disappear under the white. He never had any warning of these explosions, never a single hint that they may happen. He spent night after night prowling, but he always missed them. He saw drug deals, thugs, stopped a few rapes, but none of those low life petty criminals were causing this.

He had suspected the Joker, even after the man denied it. He’d suspected it after the sky lit up after he filled the man’s mouth with his seed- after he thought about pleasing the madman. He’d suspected him until a few days ago, when, after nearly a month, he’d finally gotten an update on Arkham.

Officially, all was well and good and under control there. Officially, no one had seen the Joker on the streets- he was in the shadows. But truthfully, the cells in Arkham’s basement were empty. The Joker was free, along with Ivy, the Riddler, a slew of criminals. Johnathon Crane had no record of a cell there, and he too just seemed to have disappeared.

Batman knew they didn’t disappear. HE assumed the random explosions, the few deaths each caused, were from one- or all- of them. But for what? What was the aim? It didn’t cause the chaos he was used to seeing, it didn’t reap money or anything precious, or even power. It just disrupted the night, got rid of some old creaky building, and then was forgotten.

Now, knowing that so many were free, he did doubt the Joker was behind it. The man had- after all- said when he first came across him that he had been let out. He hadn’t escaped. And this wasn’t him- he liked big shows. He wanted all the news cameras on him, he was high maintenance and a camera whore if there ever was one.

So that left a slew of other psychopaths, all of which seemed to be quiet. It was unnerving.

Batman scanned the area again, before quickly descending the building, cloaking in shadow, and moving about. Staying still wouldn’t help him, he had to move, to explore all the run down skeletons that remained, in the hope that he’d get lucky.

He didn’t realize how lucky that’d be, until he heard it. A loud smack, a thud, the sound of crunching snow, hushed voices. Pressed to the building, he moved like the air, until he peered around the corner, at the expanse of snow, covering the roads and walk ways and ruins.

Two figures standing in the dark moonlight- one thicker than the other, though barely- one with a curve of the hip. A man, a woman. And one body on the ground, crumpled in the snow.

Acutely aware of the crunching of the snow beneath his boots, Batman dared to move closer, crouching down behind an old run down car, half buried in snow. It looked as if it hadn’t moved in months.

“-can’t just keep running about like that!” The voice had an odd sound to it, like glass bouncing on the pavement, and the man kicked at the figure on the ground. Closer now, Batman could see the sack over his face, the way it made him look stitched up like a serial killer.

Scarecrow.

The woman had her arms folded and was only half watching. She didn’t seem interested in being there, whether because of the cold or what, he couldn’t tell. But her fiery hair told him who she was before he could take her face in. Ivy.

Two accounted for.

A laugh was coming from the snow, an unstable, erratic laugh, filled in by wheezes for breath. The Joker was pushing himself up, but he didn’t seem able to support himself. Scarecrow kicked his ribs, hard, and her jerked back to the ground, shuddering. There were trails of blood in the snow, and Batman wondered how long they had been here.

“You’re the worst test subject I’ve ever seen,” he was saying, “I should have known, should have seen it back in Arkham. Stay here and freeze for all I care, I’ve got others.” Another kick, and then he was kneeling, grabbing the Joker, lifting him up and plunging a syringe into his neck. The lithe man thrashed, screamed- actually screamed- and clawed at his neck, before he fell to the ground, unmoving. Crane stood then, brushed a bit of snow off him, and turned, walking into the dark, motioning for Ivy to follow. With a last look- an almost sorry look- at the Joker, she turned and followed, disappearing into the dead of night.

Batman waited until they were good and gone, though he wanted to spring out, to sprint to the man laying face down in the snow. Finally he caved, he ran, as if the world was on his tail, skidding to a stop and kneeling in the snow, taking the man by his shoulders.

He had to roll him over onto his back, saw his green eyes wide, staring, pupils so small they barely existed. His lips were twitching and he had begun to shiver. Batman shook him gently, but the Joker just lay there, muscles stiff as iron under his skin-

Just as Bruce’s had felt when he had been drugged. That night, in the hospital, whatever had been shoved into his veins. When this green haired maniac had gotten him out and driven him to safety.

When the Joker had played the hero for a night.

Though he knew it was insane, he very well could be rid of the Joker forever in just one night, he gathered the man up into his arms and stood. The Joker felt as if he weighed nothing, and Bruce had to cradle him close as he stalked back towards the shadows. He slipped inside the ruins of the building, gently eased the Joker down onto the dust floor and sat there, calling Alfred. He couldn’t very well take the nearly unconscious man anywhere on the Batpod.

“Master Wayne?”

“I need a pick up, Alfred,” he said, eyeing the Joker. The man convulsed for a moment, and Bruce had to reach out and steady him so he didn’t crack his head on something. “Fast.”

He gave the address, and then the line was dead. Reaching for the Joker, he pulled him onto his lap, cradled his head against his Kevlar covered chest.

The man was muttering something, nonsensical words and sounds coming from his lips. Bruce leaned closer, spoke in a loud whisper.

“Joker. Snap out of it.”

But he didn’t stop. He muttered and shook and shivered until Alfred arrived, to give Bruce a disbelieving look. Bruce ignored him, hefted the lithe man into his arms, and crawled into the backseat of the car, cradling him all the way home.

“I have no idea what it was,” Bruce was saying as Alfred looked over the man, who they had laid out on Bruce’s own bed. His skin was cold and clammy, his pulse racing, his breath short, rapid, with no rhythm. “It might have been what they injected in me, weeks ago, in that hospital. When he-“

“We don’t know what that was either, Master Wayne,” Alfred said solemnly, not wanting to hear anymore about that night. The night Batman came undone, and Bruce lost himself in the dark. The night the game changed.

Bruce, frustrated, ripped his cowl off and threw it. He was half in his suit still, pieces of armor strewn about his room. Alfred said nothing, just checked the man’s pulse a final time.

“Better,” he said, “than when you got him in the car, at least. I believe, sir, all we can do is let him ride it out.” He turned to Bruce. “I’ll take him to a guest room, put it on lock-down, and keep an eye through the surveillance camera. You should get some sleep-“

“No,” Bruce said, ripping his remaining glove off. The other was somewhere near his bedroom door. “No, he’ll stay here. I’ll watch over him.”

“Master Wayne-“

Bruce just shook his head, and Alfred gave up; his disapproval could be felt through the room. He helped Bruce gather up parts of the suit, waited for him to change, before taking it all and leaving them.

The vigilante sat on the bed, watching the Joker. He wasn’t twitching so much, and his eyes were closed now, but he could see them moving beneath the lids. He walked over to the small plush armchair he kept in his room for when he was in the mood to read, and settled in for the long night.

At some point, his eyes must have slipped closed, because when Bruce heard him, there was nothing but a heavy blackness. He shifted, opened them, saw bright green eyes staring at him from across the room, wide and dancing.

He jumped up, rushing over to the bed. The Joker was still on his back, and he turned his head to stare up at the ceiling when Bruce walked over.

“What?” he asked, having missed what the Joker had said. Cracking a smile that seemed to pain him, the Joker giggled.

“You’re cute when you sleep.”

Bruce had never been so happy to hear his stupid flirtatious jokes.

“How do you feel?” He sat on the bed, one of his hands fisting in his plush black sweatpants. Joker shrugged a shoulder and winced.

“Like I’m full of neeedlesss,” he said, and tried to sit up. He slumped and Bruce caught him, steadying him, and the man squeezed his eyes shut. “And like the world’s, ah, spinning.” One of his hands actually clutched Bruce’s arm, and the playboy felt his heart tug in some weird reaction. “I think I’m going to be sick.”

Bruce stood and scooped him up then, before he could protest. The Joker still felt like a tight bundle of nerves in his arm, as he carried him into the bathroom, gently set him down on the ground. He didn’t move for a moment, as if he was collecting himself, then he lurched forward, retching into the toilet, a strangled sob seeming to come up his throat with the bile.

His knuckles were turning white, clinging to the porcelain, and Bruce reached out, pulling back his dingy curls as his stomach tried to heave again- though it didn’t seem like there was anything in there. He was shaking, the Joker, trembling as he coughed, and Bruce was unnerved at seeing him so undone. This was the maniac who had killed countless people, had set up some of the most sinister and sick traps, who despite it all had managed to seduce Bruce enough into begging for his mouth, and here he was. An absolute mess.

A few minutes of silence passed, and finally the Joker moved. He sat back, his painted face showing more skin than paint, so much having been smudged or sweated or smeared off. Bruce released his hair, left him for a moment to walk to the sink and get him some water. He set it next to the maniac, then settled back down on the cold floor across from him.

“You should drink that,” he said, and the Joker eyed the water, before looking back at Bruce. His eyes weren’t dancing- they were placid pools of acid. Calm. Something Bruce had never seen.

He ran his finger along the rim of the glass, looking away from Bruce. He didn’t speak- that was something else unlike him. No jokes, no snide remarks. Nothing. Silence.

Bruce waited another second, then shifted onto his knees, closing the gap between them. He grasped the Joker’s face, turned him to meet his gaze, sank his fingertips into those curls. The man let him, seemed to relax under Bruce’s touch. One of Bruce’s hands left his face, trailed down his neck and chest, under his jacket, pushing it off. His shirt was damp from sweat, cold now, chilling the madman’s skin.

“Let me clean you up.”

It didn’t come out an order, a command. It came out soft, a request, a plea, something broken inside Bruce that he hadn’t meant to show. Something dug up from the black depths of his very core.

He worked on the Joker’s vest first, guiding it off his shoulders, before he began unbuttoning his shirt. It was then he realized he was shaking, his hands trembling so badly he could barely work the buttons. Frustrated- though more embarrassed- Bruce left the Joker to his own clothing and slipped behind him, turning on some hot water and letting it stream into the bathtub.

He turned around, crouched down to get eye level with the Joker, who had his own shirt completely open now, revealing a ghostly white chest, covered in risen, puckered scars. Bruce had to swallow the lump in his throat, torn between despair and desire.

“I’ll be right back,” he said, tearing himself away, leaving the man alone for a few moments. Once he had closed the door to his bedroom, he exhaled, shaking still a bit. He had to take a moment to collect himself, before hunting down Alfred.

“Can we give him something for nausea?” he asked, finding Alfred sitting on a couch with a cup of coffee and the TV on some old movie. Bruce noticed that it was still dark out, could see it through the large window. Snow was falling down, thick, heavy flakes.

Alfred stood up, left him for a moment, returning and handing him two pills. “I wouldn’t put any more drugs in him,” he warned, “until we know that whatever Dr. Crane put in him is out.”

Bruce nodded, clutched the pills. “Thank you,” he said, because he knew Alfred wanted him to call the police, to send the Joker back the Arkham, let them deal with this. He knew Alfred wanted the madman gone.

But he was helping, because Bruce had _asked_.

When Bruce got back to the bathroom, the tub was full and the Joker had turned the water off. He was naked, sitting in the water almost like a child, a sullen look on his face. Bruce was glad he had missed the man stripping completely- it would have been too much. And this was no time to be thinking of the clown like that.

He got onto his knees, scooping up the untouched glass of water, and held his hand out. The Joker reached a hand up from the water, looked at the pills Bruce dropped onto his palm.

“They’ll settle your stomach,” he said, and the man hesitated, watched Bruce for a moment before popping them into his mouth. Bruce handed him the water, but he’d swallowed them already.

“Taken a-lot of pills over the, ah, years,” he said, before taking a drink of the water anyway. His throat was raw and on fire, and even though it stung, the coolness soothed. He handed it back to Bruce, who set in on the floor and leaned against the lip of the tub, tracing his fingers along the Joker’s arm, partially submerged. The water was tinted already from dirt, sweat and grim, dried blood, but still hot to the touch.

The Joker was still cold.

“You’ll feel better after this,” Bruce said, reaching for the shower head. “Here, let’s get your hair.”

“I’m not a child, Bats,” he said, but his voice didn’t cut into Bruce like it might have. It was more amused than anything. The fact that there was any sort of nickname involved gave Bruce hope. He tipped his head back tho, let Bruce run water over his curls, watched with placid green eyes and an amused twitch to his lips.

If someone had told Bruce Wayne a month ago that he’d have the Joker in his penthouse, naked in his bathtub, washing his hair, he’d have laughed and suggested a stay in Arkham. And yet here he was, loving the feel of the warm water and the man’s scalp, loving the way he purred softly at the touches, letting those green eyes slip shut.

He was in over his head, and Bruce knew he was sinking fast, without a life boat, without a rope or a hand to steady him.

Hair wet and clean for the first time in a long time- Bruce dared not ask just _how_ long- the Joker relaxed back, arms on the sides of the tub, giving Bruce a more mischievous look, a more playful one.

“Careful Batsy,” he said, “you’ve already got me nak-ed, don’t go and get me too ex- _cit_ -ed.” He clicked his tongue in amusement, giggled a little, and Bruce wanted to be in the grimy water with him, wanted to ravish him.

What was wrong with him? Was he drugged as well, somehow? Had he been living weeks under some secret drug induced insanity?

Or was madness simply contagious?

Bruce pulled himself away from the man long enough to go find a towel, and a wash cloth. When he came back, he grabbed the soap, soaked the cloth, and ran it along the man’s chest, the suds being carried away in the water. He trailed down past his ribs, to his stomach, and the look in the Joker’s eyes was a warning- a flashing danger sign that Bruce was about to trip over the edge.

He skirted to his side, along his hip, to one of his legs, getting the majority of his arm wet, some of the water splashing onto his t-shirt. Bruce didn’t care. He leaned over the Joker more, to reach his other leg, and felt wet fingers slipping beneath the hem of his t-shirt, stroking little erratic patterns into his skin.

He reached the Joker’s hip again, and when he looked at him, the maniac was still watching, eyes still dancing. His lips were parted, still rosy despite most of his make-up having been smeared off. Bruce could feel the static in the air, crackling between them, and abandoning the cloth- and himself, and waht may have remained of his sanity- he reached between the Joker’s thighs, grasping at his cock.

He was hard- despite drugs, despite being beaten, the damn Joker was hard. Or maybe because of it. Bruce didn’t want to dwell on it. The man had sucked in his breath in a rush, let it out in a mewl as Bruce stroked him very slowly.

Bruce’s mind was racing. Oh god, what was he doing? Was this really happening? Would he wake up alone again, in his bed covered in a cold sweat and aching from the core of his chest to his toes and fingers? Would the man in front of him fade away to black, to nothing-

“Bats,” he breathed, and Bruce was jerked back to reality. He looked at him, at his parted lips and wild eyes- a pleading in them, something asking, begging him. “After the night I’ve had, don’t tease me.”

Bruce swallowed the lump in his throat, realized he’d been stroking him so slowly it was probably almost painful. Another breath and he sped his movements up, watched the Joker tip his head back in bliss, eyes closing. His hips were pushing towards Bruce, rocking with his movements in a sweet rhythm, one that made Bruce shift around, his own excitement growing harder and harder.

When the Joker stared making noises- small ones, moans and gasps and those damned mewling sounds, Bruce lost it. He reached out with his free hand, sank his fingers into wet curls, and brought his face up close. Eyes snapping open and mouth curling into one of his smiles, the Joker didn’t fight him, even when Bruce crashed their lips together.

The Joker’s tongue flicked his lips, traced the lower one, and Bruce yielded, opened his mouth, tangled with him. He tasted sour, watery, but still that underlying sweetness. It was somewhere.

Bruce was leaning almost into the tub, pressing their chests together, getting his t-shirt soaked. The water splashed as he stroked the Joker faster, ad the man wriggled and writhed about, clutching onto him suddenly, arms around his neck, whimpering and giggling into his lips, onto his tongue.

“Yeessss Batssssy, just like _that_.” He thrust his hips up, groaned low in his throat, a throat Bruce attacked with his teeth and lips and tongue, loving the feeling of the Joker’s pulse beneath his skin, the way his throat shook when he spoke. “ _Fuck_ ,” the madman groaned, and suddenly he didn’t sound so mad- at least, he was filled with an insanity Bruce understood. Lust. He sounded just like a man.

Bruce kissed him again, and in that moment everything exploded. The Joker dug his nails into his shirt, his back, he thrust up with such a force that he could have pulled Bruce into the tub with him on his way back down, and his excitement, his adrenaline, his need, exploded from him as his orgasm wracked him, burning hot against Bruce’s hand before disappearing into the water.

Bruce kissed him through it, stroked him until he had subsided back into the water, until he felt the man trembling. The Joker finally released his hold onto him, slumped back, eyes cloudy.

“I should have seduced you _years_ ago,” the Joker teased, Bruce’s cheeks tinged pink. The clown giggled at that, leaning forward, planting a playful kiss at the end of the man’s nose. “Now, get me outta here, I’m getting, ah, a bit, cold.”

Bruce stood up, helped him stand. The Joker was shaky on his feet, weak from the pleasure, weak from the drugs, he didn’t know which, but probably a mix of both. Bruce guided him out, handed the towel to him, then turned.

“I’m going to find you some clothes,” he said, walking towards the door. “You should wash your face too.”

The Joker reached up, ran his fingers over his face, felt the splotches of paint, and watched Bruce go.

Bruce tore his shirt off in the adjoining room, his bedroom, and tossed it, soaked, to the floor. He took a deep breath, felt suffocated, wanted to rip his clothing off, beg the Joker to take care of his raging arousal.

But he couldn’t. As turned on as he was, he saw how the Joker trembled, could see his ribs when he moved in certain ways. He was still feeling the drugs, Bruce was sure, and he was in no way for taking care of Bruce.

Swallowing his need, Bruce rummaged around for something to cloth the madman in.

“Hunting for treasure?”

Bruce turned, minutes later, saw the Joker leaning on the door-frame, twirling some of his wet locks. He had the towel around his waist, but it was barely hanging on, showing the curves of his hips. As alluring as that was, though, it wans’t what held Bruce’s attention.

His face. He had washed the remaining paint and make up off. He was still a pale milky white, but there was a tint of pink flesh to him. His lips were rosy but not crimson, his eyes still dancing, despite losing the black night backdrop.

And his scars. Truthfully, they weren’t that bad- just lines of puckered flesh, ever so lighter than his milky skin. He was young, possibly younger than Bruce had imagined-

And he was far more attractive than Bruce could have imagined.

He straightened up, took a few steps into the room, looked around. Then, as if he had been there a dozen times- and keeping his eyes on Bruce for the first few movements- he loosened the towel, let it fall, and slid onto Bruce’s bed, on his stomach, relaxing into the plush mattress and silky blankets. Bruce stared, his eyes roaming alone the Joker’s lithe body, as the man giggled.

“This is more comfortable than I imagined,” he said, stroking the sheets. “The way you toss and turn, it seems, ah, pos-i- _tively_ like barbed wire.”

Bruce gritted his teeth. It had been easy to forget that the Joker had been watching him- that he’d known who he was, where he lived, and felt he had some right to peek in on Bruce at night. And all those nights of tormented dreams, of wishing that same psychotic man was in bed with him- Bruce was ashamed he had seen him torn apart like that.

He tossed a pair of stripped silken pants onto the bed. “Put them on,” he said, and the Joker looked at them, back at him, then sighed.

“You’re no _fun_ , Brucey.” He sounded like himself, at least, and that put Bruce’s mind at ease-

Until he grabbed the pants, rolled onto his back, and slipped his legs into them, arching himself off the mattress to pull them up, giving Bruce glimpses of things he hadn’t seen below the murky bath water.

Bruce stalked across the room then, scooping his arm under the Joker’s shoulders and pulling him up, kissing him again. He felt the man smile, before he wrapped his arms around Bruce, clinging to him in a very human way.

No, the Joker was not allowed to be so human. This whole night was throwing Bruce off. But he kissed the madman regardless, ran a hand along his side.

“How do you feel?” he murmured against his lips, got a playful giggle as a response.

“A little better after your, ah, _help_ Brucie baby.” Bruce forced himself to sit down on the bed, to try to think clearly- but with no blood getting to his brain, it was hard.

“Nauseous?”

“N-ope. Your pills took care of that.”

“Dizzy?” A shake of the head, and those wet curls dancing. “Aches anywhere?”

“Only one place,” the Joker said, and Bruce was about to ask when the man winked. Bruce tried to set his mouth in a line, but the corners perked up in a smile. The Joker giggled, then flopped back onto the bed. Bruce hesitated, then lay down himself, next to him, on his side.

“Going to tell me what’s going on?” Bruce asked. He had intended to wait until morning- true morning- before he interrogated the Joker as to what the hell was going on, but the man seemed quite himself despite his lack of make up.

“Depends,” he said, “are you going to in-terrogate little ole me?” He rolled onto his stomach, tried to look innocent, but it just made Bruce chuckle.

“I was going to ask first.” The Joker gave him a real smile- not something exaggerated or mocking, before bowing his head a little, so his hair fell into his face, as if his neck couldn’t hold the weight up right.

“Crane let ‘em out,” he said, “As many of us as he could. Me, Miss Iv-y, and that riddling idiot.”

“Anyone else?”

“May-be,” he said, looking through his hair, “he doesn’t tell his test subjects those things.”

“Test subjects?” The Joker picked his head up fully and grinned, a grin so insane that Bruce wanted to shudder, and for a moment he was afraid. But then it was gone, and the madman looked placid again.

“Yes Batsy, _test subjects_. He just loooves sticking us with need-les and filling us with pills.”

“He can’t. Crane has his own cell in Arkham, same as you.”

“An emp-ty cell,” the Joker said, “always empty.” He chuckled. “Who do you think really looks after us down there, Bats? Some medically sound and sane old gents with their white coats and shin-y pens and _peerrrfect_ clip boards?” He cackled, flopping onto his back again, as if he couldn’t sit still. Slowly, he seemed to be coming back into his skin. “Oh nonononono Batsy, _he_ gets to play with all of us. Good old Dr. Crane, and his needles and pills!”

“How does no one know?” Bruce asked. “They can’t just... experiment on you. You’re human too.”

“Am I know?” The Joker looked at him, and the seriousness in those wild eyes was terrifying. “I seem to forget from time to time.”

“Is that why you won’t go back?”

“For fuck’s sake,” the Joker said suddenly, sitting up, “of _course_ it is. Don’t be so d-dense, Brucie. Maybe you are meant for all those blonde little brainless models.” Bruce found, and seeing that he may have struck a nerve, the Joker grinned. “Ooohh, too close to home, dar-ling?”

Bruce gritted his teeth, and suddenly he didn’t want to kiss the man, he wanted to punch his teeth in. Only the Joker could make his emotions so tumultuous.

“What is Crane planning with you all free now?”

“To create more of... _me_.”

“You?” Bruce stared. Was the man lying? Was he playing him false? Did he have some line at the end to berate Bruce and make the rage boil in him?

“ _Yesss_. He wants more...madness. Chaos. He wants more men like me- only the kind he can control.” His lips twitched, he seemed to twitch entirely in a moment, as if the crackling, constant energy that he usually radiated was all surging back. “Wants to drug everyone to feel everything like I do. To show them _truth_. But he wants to control them, too. That’s what that little drug you felt is for.”

“How could that do anything but incapacitate anyone?”

“ _Ex-act-ly! _” The Joker was pushing up onto his knees now, sweeping his arms out. “That’s the point, Batsy. He trains them like dogs, just like a dog doens’t want to get kicked. We don’t want that needle.”__

__“And why does he want you?”_ _

__“Why, i’m the model, the perfect specimen. Except _without_ drugs. He wants to keep me in a cage when he’s not watching, wants to run me like a little _rat_ and see if his subjects react just. Like. Me.”_ _

__Bruce stayed laying there, staring at the man, who seemed suddenly more made than the clown he was used to seeing- as if just talking about it filled him with something. A minute may have ticked by before something flitted from the Joker and he relaxed, slumping down a bit._ _

__“So I wo-n’t go back,” he said, “no matter what you do, Bats. I’ll go back to the st-reets, but not Arkham. Not where he can get me again.”_ _

__The madness seemed to die then, and his eyes stopped dancing, turning placid again. Bruce relaxed too, feeling as if a mad dog had just stopped snarling and wagged his tail. He reached out, got the Joker’s neck and cheek, his thumb tracing over one of the Joker’s scars. A shaky breath left the clown’s lips, before his lids drooped a little._ _

__“I won’t send you back,” Bruce said, while Batman, deep inside, screamed at him. Of course the Joker had to go back to Arkham. He couldn’t very well stay here- it was dangerous. “But on one condition.”_ _

__“What?” the Joker asked, nuzzling into his hand, capturing Bruce’s thumb in his mouth and swirling his tongue around the tip. The playboy shivered._ _

__“You’ve got to help me get them, and put those madmen back in Arkham. And expose what they’re doing there to all of you.”_ _

__“Is that all?” the Joker asked, his lips ghosting over all of Bruce’s fingers, before he kissed his palm. “I thought you might ask for some-thing more... _phys-i-cal_.”_ _

__Bruce lost his breath, and the Joker caught it. He kissed the playboy with force, leaning into him, bare chest to bare chest. Bruce wrapped his arms around the lithe frame, tumbled them down to the bed so the Joker was draped on top of him. Lips mad with need, both of them moved with urgency, the Joker grinding his hips down obscenely, Bruce pushing up against them- hard again in an instant, as if his arousal had never left him._ _

__“Ah, that’s a good Bats,” the Joker said, with a delicious grind of his hips. Bruce groaned. He smirked- but only for a moment before the playboy had his lips again, tongue delving into his mouth, battling the madman’s in a dance it seemed they’d find themselves in quiet often._ _

__He flipped them, grabbed the Joker’s pants, and tore them down, exposing pale skin, his long legs. Bruce tossed them behind him, one hand roaming over that skin, the other pulling on his own sweatpants, desperately wanting them gone. The Joker had to sit up and help, but he seemed to enjoy it, his lips on Bruce’s collar bone, his chest, one pale nipple that made him jerk and groan as teeth nipped at it before a slick tongue replaced them._ _

__Finally naked, Bruce pressed them together, pushing the clown down into the mattress, about to kiss him when the lights suddenly went out. Bruce barely noticed, later on he’d think the snow must have pulled a wire free, but in that moment it didn’t matter. The Joker who had been so chilled was suddenly on fire, skin burning to the touch, and it was all Bruce needed against the early winter._ _

__Their lips were meshed together when the Joker wrapped his legs around Bruce’s waist- just as his girls did sometimes, only this was obscene in such a delicious way- gyrated their hips together, their cocks bumping, pressed between their stomachs. Bruce’s breath choked in his throat._ _

__“C’mon Batsy,” he was saying, gyrating them again. “Comeoncomeoncomeon- you _want_ it.”_ _

__Bruce almost asked what it was the Joker thought he wanted, but he was running his hands over those thighs and the pushing him into the mattress, reaching for his night stand as he would if he had a few girls over._ _

__He wanted to fuck him. He wanted to shove himself into the Joker and let his fire consume him, to make him groan and writhe and scream and come. He wanted him like he’d never wanted someone before, and it was terrifying._ _

__Leaving the bottle of lube next to him, he slipped a slick finger between them, pressed it against the Joker’s entrance. The man grinned, released Batman’s waist with his legs so he could splay them, and Bruce pushed inside, watching the Joker sigh and let his head loll from side to side. A second digit joined almost immediately, and he moved them slowly, in and out of the man, before he curled his fingers up._ _

__That breathed life into the Joker. His eyes were wide and he groaned, his cock visibly twitching. Bruce did it again, and again, until he couldn’t take the man quivering for him, muttering pleas between giggles and gasps._ _

__Bruce stroked his own cock until it was slick, hen loomed over the Joker._ _

__“ _Fuck me, Batssyyy_ ,” he dared, and Bruce shoved himself into to the hilt, making the Joker arch and cry out. Bruce pulled him up and kissed him as he thrust, sank his fingers into his hair as his body lit him afire. The Joker mewled into his mouth, threw his arms around him, seemed to cling for dear life._ _

__And then Bruce was stroking one of his scars again, and the man in his arms shattered. He whimpered and pleaded and shook and quaked and unraveled like yarn. His eyes danced with something hot and his mouth whimpered, “BruceBruceBruce,” over and over again, the Joker’s cock being rubbed between their two bodies. Another kiss and he groaned, eyes nearly rolling into the back of his head, body clenching Bruce so tightly he gasped. The Joker was coming, his cock twitching as he splashed their stomachs, his fingers shaking, trailing along Bruce’s back._ _

__Bruce followed a moment later, the muscle contractions and those eyes and that voice just too much. The Joker was still whimpering his name, Bruce leaning down and biting his shoulder as the last of his orgasm wracked him._ _

__They collapsed to the bed, tangled, and Bruce kissed him again, holding his face still. He seemed so human, suddenly- no make-up, no knives, no laughter or snide remarks. He was too busy shaking, as if no one had ever made him come so hard in his life. Bruce stroked his hair as he kissed him, pulled the blanket up and huddled with him in the dark._ _

__Exhausted, the Joker was curling up against him, finally giggling, albeit softly. He nestled against Bruce’s chest, under his chin, kissed at skin and murmured against it. Bruce just closed his eyes and held him, sanity be damned._ _

__Madness was contagious, but Bruce was beginning to think it was also curable._ _

**Author's Note:**

> This ended up being about twice the length it was supposed to. Aw well!


End file.
